The way fig flesh
Folds itself
into each hour,
its skin rubbed
from gray to
purple, bitten into
yellow prickled with
gold seeds stuck
to your lips. It’s
late, maybe midnight
or two we’re not sure
as our feet trip
over stone streets and
we bid the other
buona notte.
I am hungry and
very much wanting
***. Instead
I sauté the
zucchini blossoms
my host mom
bought all’mercado.
and in her kitchen
I lick
the mouth of the
olive oil bottle as
the petals pucker
in her cast iron
pan and then with
a whisper of salt
they are burning
my mouth as I
pluck
each
from the pan, oil
dripping down my
wrists and after I
am still hungry
and very much
wanting ***
but I decide
it’s enough
to have figs and
zucchini blossoms
and I go to bed,
my mouth tasting
something
like a melody.